


Didn't Get to Heaven, but You Made It Close

by juniorstarcatcher



Category: Mad Max Series (Movies), fury road
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-03
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:45:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/juniorstarcatcher/pseuds/juniorstarcatcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the first thirteen days since their triumphant return into the city, Capable has been searching the horizon for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Didn't Get to Heaven, but You Made It Close

Furiosa was expecting this. Expecting this from at least one of them. Of the wives that returned from the Fury Road, she expected it would be perhaps Fragile. Or Dag. Everyone loses something when they go out on that road, and to return from it means leaving a piece of yourself behind. Furiosa knows that better than anyone. She’s done it a million times. A million scraps of herself are scattered across that desert, shreds of hope, of humanity, of memory and soul, all scattered across the vast plains of dust. And after the thousands of trips she’d taken in the Rig, she’s seen people bury so much of themselves in the desert that they become strangers to anyone who knows them. They become strangers to themselves. 

After their time on the road, Furiosa could feel it in her bones; at least one of the women would become like that. It was the last thing she wanted, but the first thing she expected. But, these women are always surprising her. Because it wasn’t Dag. Or Fragile. 

It was Capable. 

For the first thirteen days since their triumphant return into the city, Toast would greet Furiosa every morning with an update on the Citadel’s workings; she became as trustworthy a lieutenant as the old driver ever had. But every day’s assessment ended the same: She’s still up there. And, inevitably, Furiosa would turn her eyes skyward, looking up from under her mask of oil toward Prisoner’s Peak- the highest point in the entire Citadel, so named because Immortan Joe would punish War Boys by sentencing them to remain atop the rock until they had gone mad with the heat. And, inevitably, when she would look up there, she would see a feminine figure made small by the distance. Capable. Standing with her binoculars poised at the horizon, scanning the distance for any sign of him. She crawled up there the night they returned to the Citadel and, as far as anyone has been able to tell, she hasn’t come down since. 

For twelve days, Furiosa let it go, ignored it, let her be. Everyone heals in their own way. Who is she to take this woman away from something that helps her grieve? But, on day thirteen, Furiosa takes one look at Toast, whose eyes are harsh and concerned, and nods, saying nothing, but letting everyone understand anyway. I will go and retrieve her. 

And so it is that Furiosa finds herself scaling Prisoner’s Peak at the hottest part of the day. She climbs and climbs, letting her pain fuel her, push her ever higher up the mountain until, at last, she reaches the final plateau. Struggling to control her breathing and throbbing with the pain in her leg, Furiosa looks upon the object of her task. The young woman does not move at the sound of her approach, does not turn her head or even acknowledge anything but the vast expanses of distance unfurled before her. She stands in the shade of a crude structure she’s scrounged together from old cloths scavenged from Immortan Joe’s den, her hair soaked with sweat even as it is tied away from her neck. Furiosa spies no possessions, except for the canteen dangling from her neck and the binoculars held up to her eyes. Secretly, perhaps she would admit that she admires Capable, admires the hope that she possesses, the strength with which she’s holding onto that hope. But, Furiosa doesn’t say any of that. All she says is: 

“You are waiting for a dead man.”

Capable is not surprised by the appearance of the Imperator- in fact, she thought they might have tried to make her come down even sooner- so she does not flinch at the sound of Furiosa’s voice breaking the impenetrable silence of the last few days. Truthfully, Capable could not say just how long she’s been up here; the only clocks she has are the sun and Dag’s evening appearances to refill her canteen, but she knew from that, no matter how long she stood up here, people would begin to wonder. 

She knew no one would understand. 

But she climbed the mountain, stood atop it anyway, and never took her eyes off of the horizon. Dag would say, during her brief visits, that the children of the ground had begun to take notice of her standing up here. Apparently, they began to whisper stories of the “woman who watches,” a brave warrior who stands guard against any evils that might try and enter the Citadel. Little girls in the street play games of pretend, saying that one day they will be like her, the watchful protector over the new world created when Immortan Joe fell. Others are more romantic; the adults in the street tell their children bedtime stories of a woman whose lover was taken by the stars, so every night she stands at the top of the mountain, trying to pull the sky down so she can take him back. 

No one understands, but Capable never asked them to. 

On her back, she can feel the narrowed gaze of Furiosa, staring her down, asking better of her. But Capable merely keeps her head high, ignoring the sizzling feeling of the older woman’s steel eyes, the eyes that burn hotter than the sun on this mountaintop. Capable answers Furiosa in her own way, her voice flat and matter-of-fact. 

“When I see him, I’m taking one of the buggies.”

“You can’t drive,” comes the simple, clean response. 

Women, Furiosa excepted, were not allowed to learn the ways of the wheel. Immortan Joe made sure of that; it was always his wish to rob them of any chance they could have at escape, and denying them the right to a ride was one of the ways he accomplished that. Capable amends her statement, unfazed by the sudden obstacle. 

“When I see him, you’re taking me out in one of the buggies,” she demands, her voice unaltered from the last time she spoke. 

There are things that Furiosa wants to say, things that she knows aren’t true, things that would be needlessly cruel and would rattle Capable from her perch on this mountain faster than a dust storm manifests on the Fury Road. She wants to say: Don’t make yourself a slave to another man. That, she knows, would break Capable in a way that could never be repaired. That, she knows, would move her from this place. But, she knows it isn’t true. Capable is a slave to no one. Even when she was in chains to Immortan Joe, Capable was never truly a slave. 

Furiosa rubs her close-shaved head with her hand and squints into the sun-soaked horizon; she thought this might be easier, that there would be some moving this woman. But now, having seen her with her own eyes, she knows that was foolish. No one could move Capable but Capable herself. Furiosa resigns herself; Capable must make her own choices and all Furiosa can do is make sure that she takes care of herself.

“Are you getting water?” She asks. 

Capable continues scanning the blinding horizon through her binoculars, “Yes, Dag has been bringing me some,” she reaches a free hand to the canteen around her neck, shaking the water around as evidence. 

It’s a miracle that news of Dag’s escapades had not made it to Furiosa, but she will forgive the big hearted girl for keeping the secret. The woman nods once at the stoic figure in front of her. 

“Stay in the shade,” Furiosa advises. 

“I will,” comes the reply. 

Knowing that she is no longer needed, Furiosa turns, ready to climb back down the way she came. She takes a few certain steps in that direction, but stops herself before she goes, her body and mind tense. Clenching her fist and letting it idly linger over her heart, more a force of habit than of ceremony, Furiosa lets a few sincere words leave her, carried to Capable’s ears by the hot, biting wind. 

“When you see him, I will drive you,” she swears. 

For the first time, Capable lets the binoculars fall. She doesn’t turn to watch Furiosa go, but rather closes her eyes against the sun and lets the words sink in. When you see him. Not if. Not get down from here, you’re making a desperate fool of yourself. No. When you see him. With her eyes closed, Capable hears the world around her play a symphony of sound. She can hear the wind whistle, the sound of the groundlings far below her, the steady, stunted sound of Furiosa’s limping down the way she came. She listens and hopes. Hopes that the confidence just muttered to her by one of her greatest allies is not in vain. 

She just wants him to have survived. He said he would follow. He said he would follow.

When she again looks through the glasses of her binoculars, only a few minutes later, Capable goes pale. 

“Furiosa?” She mutters, then, gathering her voice, repeats at a shout, “Furiosa!”

“What?” The Imperator calls, from her steady trek down the mountain. 

Capable can’t breathe, she can’t think, she can’t string words together. There’s… She sees… At first, she is certain it is a mirage. It can’t be real. That speck in the distance, that something she’s spying from a distance… Can it be real? But more than that, can it be him? She needs Furiosa… She needs Furiosa… only she could say if it’s real or a product of Capable’s grieving imagination. 

“I need you to… Will you…” She stammers, suddenly overcome by the stress and the heat and the weight her mind is bearing. Then, realizing she won’t be able to explain it with the way her chest is pumping and her mind is swirling, she merely shouts, “Come back here.”

The sound of the Imperator’s heavy footsteps halt; the suspension of the sound makes Capable almost go mad. 

“Now!” She screams. 

If it were anyone but Capable, if it were any other world but this one, Furiosa would have taken the gun from her belt and shot with wild abandon. No one commands her, and no one runs the clock of her world. But it is Capable and it is this world, so the desperation in the single world is fuel to Furiosa’s feet. Following her own footprints, she climbs back up to the plateau. The image that greets her sends shockwaves through her from somewhere deep within; Capable stands there, silhouetted by the distant sunshine, holding her binoculars out to the side, her entire body shaking. She seems lost to the world, her mind no where but the speck that Furiosa can just barely make out on the line of the horizon. Running forward and taking the binoculars, Furiosa aims them at the speck and focuses. 

Closer and closer, the circular frames go in, dragging the image of the speck ever closer to her. A speck, then a dot, then a figure, until finally….. She sees him. 

Or, at least, she hopes it’s him. 

She gambles that it’s him. 

A barking order resounds in her dry throat, and she roughly shoves Capable’s shoulders, moving her into action. Every muscle in her body coils, the white-hot electricity of adrenaline pulses through her body. Could the War Boy have survived? Could the thing Capable lost in the desert return to her? 

“Down to the Interceptor,” She growls. Capable doesn’t move, prompting Furiosa’s voice to raise, “Now.”

Capable cannot confirm that what happens next happened in slow motion with her heart beating so wildly in her ears that it almost exploded her skull, but that is certainly how it felt. With Furiosa at her back, the pair move like a tornado of flesh and blood- seamless and violent to anything in their path. Down the mountain, through the valley. Capable slides across the hood of the first buggy she sees, throwing herself into the passenger seat as Furiosa tethers herself to the driver’s. They peel off into the desert, the shouts and confusion of passerby keeping time with the thumping of their blood in their veins. 

Furiosa presses the gas pedal to the floor of the car and keeps it there. 

The desert sails past the windows, a sickening blur of blue sky and red sand, but neither of them look anywhere but straight ahead. There is nothing but the road before them. There is nothing but the hope of the speck in the distance. 

They drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive and drive until Capable is certain she imagined the whole thing. Maybe she has lost her mind after all. Maybe the wear of the world has filed her down to her end. Maybe-

“Dead ahead.”

The two words shake Capable from the rooms of her own mind; her head snaps up and, through the window, she can see him. Battered and dazed, tripping through sand and dirtier than she’s ever seen a living body, sure. But it’s really him. Not a mirage. Not a daydream. Nux. Capable cannot help herself. 

“Nux! Nux!” She screams, her voice raw. 

She reaches for the handle of her door. 

“Don’t-“ The Imperator warns, but it is too late.

The door swings wide, and Capable tumbles from the moving car, rolling through the sand. Her world spins, her vision seizing and her body yowling in pain. But is not bothered. Spitting sand from between her teeth and pushing herself to stand, she waves her arms wildly above her head to the figure a few yards ahead of her. She takes off running.

“Nux! Nux!” She screams again, watching from the corner of her eye as the Buggie swings wide and slides to a stop, kicking up a wave of desert earth with it. 

If Nux had to describe this moment, he would say that he was a car coasting after being emptied of gasoline. The last twelve days he crawled from the wreckage of an inferno of cars, endured blistering heat, freezing nights, wild animals hungry for fresh meat and the screaming of his mind against itself. He did everything, everything, to keep moving. His body may be dying, his back bent and his limbs barely moving, his muscles and bones crying to give up, but his spirit is running full speed. He has to get back to her. He has to get back. 

He hears her before he sees her. 

“Nux!”

His neck snaps in the direction of the sound. And a vision appears. Furiosa in one of the Buggies waits while a figure with hair of fire runs through the dunes toward him. The smile that has been a character in his dreams is now looming before him, the music of her voice now fills his ears. 

His own dry and broken lips force their way into a smile of their own and if there were any water in his body, he might have cried. Nux forces his body forward, faster and faster and faster. 

“I followed,” he pants, his voice audible only to himself, “I said I would follow.”

They are running to each other across the desert, each pushing themselves harder and harder until they are face-to-face, so close that Nux can feel the sweet coolness of her breath on his nose. In that split moment of clarity, a gift from the Gods if he was ever given one, he sees it all. How desperately then he wanted to die. How he craved it, ached for it. 

But now, looking at her, he sees what Valhalla could never have, the only thing he wants and the only thing it could deny him. Capable. 

His lips break into a smile; his expression turns, for the first time in his life, peaceful. And he says something he knows he means. 

“Fuck Valhalla.”

And, finally home, he collapses into Capable’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! Please leave comments or kudos to let me know what you think!


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